I Go to Heaven

I went to Heaven last night. In my dreams. I hadn't planned to go there, and as a matter of fact, I had been thinking about Paris, hoping to dream about the little rooftops and sidewalk cafes. But the first thing I knew, there I was at the pearly gates. Lest I lead the reader astray, they weren't pearly. They were a sort of weathered wood and the walls were a kind of dried mud composition. Over the gate it said "Paradise," and underneath in smaller letters various words, such as Heaven, Allah, Happy Hunting Grounds, and so on. But there was the gate, closed and locked of course, and St. Peter was there, sitting on a stone bench wearing a loin cloth. I guess my expression was one of amazement, because St. Peter said, "We don't wear long robes up here. Too much maintenance. We simplified a couple of centuries ago. Now it's strictly come as you are. You might find some of the occupants stark naked. Why are you here? I thought you weren't due up here for a long time."
"I want to see my mother," I said, thinking fast. "She should be up here someplace."
St. Peter scratched his beard, plucked something out of it, and thought a moment. "I suppose she must be up here. There's no place else she could have gone to. You know there's no Hell. That's just what they used to say to scare people."
"O.K.," I said. "Do I need a passport, or should I say a prayer, or something to get in?"
"Not at all," St. Peter said, but still not getting up. "Do you still want to go in?"
"I don't know," I said. "Does everyone who is ever born get to come up here?"
He gave me a look of scorn. "You only get in if you believe in Paradise. If you don't believe, when you die, you simply cease to exist." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that! Poof! You are gone."
"But what about reincarnation?'' I asked.
St. Peter flew into an unholy rage. "Reincarnation?" he shrieked. "Don't talk to me about reincarnation. If you wanted to come back as a cat or something, you should have thought about that before you died."
He banged his long cane against the rock and I thought he was going to strike me.
"Now," he said, calming down a little. "Do you want to go in or not? You're holding up the whole line. We've got a traffic jam here."
(to be continued)